


Found

by My_Young_Friend



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Young_Friend/pseuds/My_Young_Friend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Any number of people knew how to find him. Two people would be able to track him wherever he went. But still, only one person knew, right at this moment, where he was."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found

One person knew where he was.

Any number of people knew how to find him. Two people would be able to track him wherever he went. But still, only one person knew, right at this moment, where he was.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe his 'death' interfered with the girl's gift. But he doubted it. They thought he was dead; one knew he was alive.

He had any number of theories as to how this one had found him. He'd hoped to be able to ask some day. But he'd heard the car engine approaching an hour ago and was fairly confident that this visit would proceed just as those before. No words; plenty of sounds, but no words. That was the deal with this one. Words complicated things too much; they poked holes in the mud-and-stick dam which held back their reason, history, everything that would rationally prevent this from happening.

So neither said anything, body language notwithstanding. This one arrived, they fucked, they slept and he left.

If he listened carefully he could just make out the heartbeat in the car. It was…wrong. Different. It was impossible to explain but he could tell. It was racing, but not in the usual way. This visit would be different. He wasn't entirely comfortable with that.

\--------------

The first visit had called up similar feelings. He'd heard the car as it made its way up the hill. He'd searched out the heartbeat, straining to hear it over the cacophony of the engine. He'd waited until the car was almost to the shack before he'd accepted what his ears were telling him. He _had_ recognised the beat, he wasn't mistaken, someone had found him and he knew exactly who it was.

Gently closing the door he'd drifted gently until lying on the ceiling. Soon after a knock on the door was quickly followed by the twist of the handle. The entry was not tentative; the visitor stalked in, slamming the door behind him. He'd shucked off his coat while scanning the rest of the room. It was clear, even from the ceiling, that the thin shirt and pants could not conceal a weapon. The man finally looked up, eyes locking with Sylar's. The expression was familiar; he'd seen the same look of brutal determination while strapped to a chair in the apartment in New York. Seconds later he'd suffered an excruciating lumbar puncture.

With that image clear in his mind, he descended, landing almost toe-to-toe with this one, the only one to find him in three months.

"Mohind-"

Sylar barely finished the second syllable. He had expected a lot from this visitor; recriminations, threats, even violence. He hadn't expected anything this vicious. The fingers wrapped around the back of his neck dug into his skin painfully, the force of the grip crushing his mouth to Mohinder's. A sharp bite to his lower lip made him gasp, an opportunity Mohinder fully exploited. Only when the strange tongue began to ransack his mouth did Sylar regain his senses enough to fight back. Gripping cotton-covered shoulders tightly he began resist. At this reaction the hand around his neck rose to grip his hair, pulling sharply on it. Mohinder broke the kiss to whisper the only words said in four visits.

"Shut up."

Head spinning Sylar absently wondered why he was allowing himself to be abused like this. Before he could continue the thought, a hand began to roughly massage his groin. Any chance of intelligent thought at that moment was driven out and replaced by a feral need for more. More friction, more heat, more _everything_. His hips arched and were pushed forcefully back against the wall. Another touch, another thrust, another shove. Sylar's every attempt to gain control of the situation was rebuffed.

\----------------

Later, long after Mohinder had left, he wondered why he had allowed it. In a blink he could have thrown Mohinder across the room, or frozen him to the spot, or burned the flesh from his bones. Any number of things he could have done and didn't. At the time he'd assumed that he was too caught up in the moment.

Watching his visitor's slumped posture behind the wheel, he was now beginning to realise how wrong he had been. The same thoughts now ran through his head as then. Please, please don't stop.

\--------------

Mohinder broke the kiss to drag Sylar's sweater off him. He seemed to take a moment to survey the newly vulnerable, semi-naked form in front of him, finally meeting Sylar's gaze with a look of such intensity that a warm charge shot down his spine and into his cock. The smile accompanying the look was pure predator. A half-formed thought on where Mohinder had learned to smile like that was driven from his mind as the man leapt upon his still-open mouth.

If the first kiss had been powerful, then this was dizzying; more a fight than an embrace. Teeth clashed, tongues thrust against each other, and central to it all was an explosion of hatred, lust, passion and sheer animalism. The kiss was a battle, not for dominance but _survival_. Sylar conceded defeat as he pulled away to breathe.

Gasping for breath, both men stood for an immeasurable time. Mere inches separated them and Sylar could still taste Mohinder in his mouth.

Sylar's head lolled back to rest on the wall, giving Mohinder uninhibited access to his neck. Such a tempting offer was readily taken up. A low growl sounded deep in Sylar's throat as his neck was bitten and sucked and licked unceasingly. He barely registered the downward movement of the attack until a tongue flicked his already-sensitive nipple.

He arched into the touch only to be forcibly pushed back into the wall. Exploiting the weakness, Mohinder licked the sensitive spot over and over before dragging his teeth roughly over it. Sylar yelled incomprehensibly as Mohinder lavished the same treatment on the hitherto neglected nipple, pinching and stroking its abused counterpart all the while.

Unable to withstand the torture any more, Sylar grasped a handful of Mohinder's hair, tilting his head upwards into another bruising kiss. His mind flooded with sensation, Sylar barely managed to undo the buttons of Mohinder's shirt. Once free of this distraction, Sylar raked his fingers harshly down soft, brown skin. He swallowed the gasp drawn out by this with a smile, and moved his hands around the writhing body in his grasp. Finally reaching his target, Sylar bit down on Mohinder's lip as he roughly dragged his fingers down the prominent swelling in Mohinder's pants. The noise this elicited was somewhere between a gasp and a yell, but so _wanton_ that Sylar had to break the kiss to stop himself from coming.

Before he knew what was happening, Sylar was turned and pushed face first into the wall. His legs were kicked apart and his jeans were loosened and pulled down to knee level. His boxers soon followed, exposing his sensitized cock to the cold air inside the cabin. There was barely time to acclimatize before the noises behind him made his cock jerk. A sound of a zipper being drawn down was followed by rip of a foil packet and the unmistakeable sound of liquid being poured onto skin.

If he hadn't been sure before, Sylar knew now _exactly_ how this was going to end.

A first oily finger traced its way between his cheeks, stroking the cleft with feather-light touches. The almost-contact was unbearable and Sylar arched towards it. Instead of the touch he was craving, the finger was removed entirely. The frustrated rumble in his throat was cut off as the finger breached his entrance; sliding in from tip to base, then moving slowly out again only to re-enter fully. A second finger joined it as Mohinder pulled Sylar's head back by the hair. As the fingers worked inside him, Mohinder's mouth attended to his neck. Each inward thrust was punctuated by a bite to the neck; each lingering, _stretching_ withdrawal matched by a tongue lapping the fresh red welts.

A third finger was added and Sylar bit back a groan, refusing to give Mohinder the satisfaction. All thoughts of pride were lost when that third finger was crooked and stroked across _that_ spot inside.

As he moaned and panted into the wall, Sylar heard Mohinder's quiet laughter. He could feel anger rising inside him; the bastard was _laughing_ at him! But with each stroke of the finger, the fire was extinguished and all Sylar could do was breathe through it.

He stood gasping as the fingers were removed, eyes noticing his hands bracing the wall. He shifted his weight to just one hand, moving the other towards his engorged and already-leaking cock.

Even before he could touch himself, Mohinder's cock penetrated his opening. The grip on his hair tightened and the angle prevented him from moving away from the pressure. He winced as the full length was thrust into him, condom and lubrication doing little to help. With each thrust the pain lessened and he began to match the rhythm with his hand. Sylar knew from the fast pace that neither of them would last long. He came first, semen shooting upwards, coating his chest and the wall. His orgasm pushed Mohinder too far and the man came with a choked gasp soon after.

For a time they stood fixed in place, Sylar resting on the wall and Mohinder leaning on Sylar's back. Eventually Mohinder removed himself, gathering his clothes before he left. Sylar watched him leave, before falling into bed and sleeping soundly.

\-------------------

He was surprised when, over a week later, no-one had been sent after him. He was _amazed_ when three weeks later Mohinder returned. Even by the fourth visit Sylar was unsure whether he would see Mohinder again. After they spent the night together he knew they would. It was not a comforting thought.

\---------------

The second time, he'd met Mohinder at the door, allowing himself to be pushed inside and on to the bed. After that time, he'd seen hesitation cross Mohinder's face, conflict visible in dark brown eyes. Still he had left. By the fourth visit, not only was Mohinder staying the night, but Sylar had awoken to find a head of thick black curls laid on his chest, an arm thrown possessively over his pale stomach.

The same stomach lurched when the car stopped outside. This is where the dam would break, he could see that now and all he wanted to do was run. But this one had found him before and would do so again.

Sylar stood in the doorway, watching the guarded expression on Mohinder's face as he exited the car. Dark brown eyes wouldn't quite meet his own until directly in front of him. Smooth, soft fingertips brushed his cheek and _this_ kiss was everything the others weren't. Gentle, hesitant and heartbreaking. He tried to continue it even as Mohinder tried to break it off, as much to put off the inevitable as to prolong the feeling. Eventually, too soon, pliant lips left his and now he refused to meet those eyes.

"They know," whispered Mohinder.

 

"It's over," heard Sylar. 


End file.
